


Vegas to London, by way of Calexico

by FlyingMocha



Series: Equilibrium [2]
Category: James May's Man Lab RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s19e02 Top Gear (UK), Fluff, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 22:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingMocha/pseuds/FlyingMocha
Summary: "I don't want to be a bother, but, well, there's an article I want to show you."  Frowning at his text, James spent several minutes trying to think of a better way to word it.  He didn't like this code phrase nonsense, but the idea of coming out and saying "I need a cuddle" was just… he couldn't.  So he pressed send and pushed his phone aside as if fearful it might explode.





	Vegas to London, by way of Calexico

**Author's Note:**

> The Bleeding Obvious (disclaimer):  
> Totally made up. Any resemblance to reality is unintentional on my part. It's even less real than reality television.  
> Figment of my imagination. This maybe could have used one more proofread but I'm releasing it now in celebration of having defended my GPA for another semester. Which is to say, after that many research papers, I have temporarily ceased to care about proofreading.

James sat back in his chair, tea in one hand and paper in the other. He had a dozen or so things he needed to be doing, but between the exhaustion inherent in Top Gear's unique style of business trips, and the jet lag that he finally accepted would never get any easier for him, he just didn't feel up to any of it. He needed a day to himself, he decided. More specifically, he needed a day to focus on meeting his personal needs. Which was how he'd ended up sitting at the table, ignoring the props in his hands as he considered what his needs actually were. He'd showered twice, finally managing to scrub the American Southwest dirt off his body. He'd washed his laundry. He'd even texted Hammond, teasing his young colleague about having gotten stuck with the add-on Mexico trip. He'd checked the DVR and decided that nothing he'd recorded was really worth watching right away. He'd get around to it in due time. And he'd even plotted out some of his remarks for the next Man Lab recording. The series was winding down, and he was fairly sure that they wouldn't be having another one, so his usual level of perfectionism had increased dramatically. But he'd done all the editing he could stand to do… what was left? He had tea, slippers… oh dear lord. Sim had been right. Even though it hadn't been long since the last, er… time they'd spent time together, James needed a cuddle. Already.

James spent the next half hour puttering around the house, washing windows, tightening a doorknob screw here and there, oiling the squeaky hinge on that one cabinet… until he had to face reality. He had made a commitment to Sim, to let his colleague know when he felt like this. Sim had said it was a way of demonstrating respect, something that both men knew he had in spades, but the conveyance wasn't to Sim's exacting standards. James rolled his eyes at the realisation that he'd finally managed to make a friend who shared his sense of precise standards -- and it was just as annoying as his friends who didn't.

Just tell. He could never say no to James, he'd said. Not understanding how that could be possible, feeling like every atom of insecurity in the entire universe had taken up residence in his bloodstream just for the amusement value… James finally heaved a sigh and picked up his phone. "I don't want to be a bother, but, well, there's an article I want to show you." Frowning at his text, he spent several minutes trying to think of a better way to word it. But the idea of saying "I need a cuddle" was just… he couldn't. So he pressed send and pushed his phone aside as if fearful it might explode. Fearful it might bring a message that could break the fragile trust that he had the right to ask this of Sim, is what it really was. But James preferred to think he was half-afraid of an explosion, instead. It was the more controlled situation, if he had to choose one.

Five minutes later, a response came. "No bother, what's the article?" James frowned at this, perplexed. Had Sim understood the message? Had he forgotten their most recent interaction entirely? Had James somehow imagined it, had it never happened in the first place? Was it just a very clever, very real-feeling dream? And oh dear god what was James doing having realistic-feeling dreams about being hugged, anyway? This had to be something Clarkson had done to him, somehow… some kind of… James was halfway through deciding whether to call it a curse or a hex when he suddenly laughed at the complete absurdity of the mental images with which he was amusing himself.

Another response interrupted his thoughts: "Hang on, is it the one about friendship and respect, by chance?"

James gave a relieved chuckle. Sim remembered the code phrase he'd suggested. He remembered. It had happened. And it could happen again, if James wanted. Was that what he wanted? He could dodge; his latest woodworking magazine actually did have a couple items worth sharing. Or he could draw up his courage and… "Yes," his fingers texted back before he had quite finished reasoning himself into it.

"Bring the article to the Lab in 30m? I have ingredients; we can make pizza and discuss." James grinned and replied in the affirmative, quickly dressing in worn, lab-appropriate clothes in case of impromptu engineering project. He grabbed some things he actually had wanted to share with Sim next time they met up. At the appointed time (all right, so he was five minutes late) James eased his car into his preferred parking spot and headed into the building. He could already smell the pizza oven, its not-quite-fireplace scent wafting over the property.

"Hello," Sim greeted politely when James came into their shared workspace. He was already preparing the pizza while the oven heated up. "Do you want mushrooms on your half?" James nodded and set down his folder of articles. "Could you get the beers? How was America?"

"Nobody threw rocks at us," he answered as he filled glasses at the bar.

"Rocks?" Sim asked, reminding James that having become thick as thieves with his unkempt engineer didn't automatically impart his personal history to the younger man.

"Few years ago," he explained, "we did a road trip through the South, stereotypical Bible belt area. One of the games we played was painting offensive slogans on one another's cars, just to get a bit of a rise out of people. We expected to be honked at, called names, whatever… turns out those stereotypes about Americans and their guns, absolutely true. Before we quite knew what had happened, they were chasing us, guys riding in the beds of pickup trucks, rifles in hand, throwing rocks at our camera operators. We had to pull over and wash the slogans off the cars with whatever we had. Lost four days' worth of the crew's water and cola, in that one."

"Wow," Sim muttered. "The Americans I've met seem so nice and unwilling to resort to violence."

"Yes, well," James muttered. "Your experience seems more common, honestly. Just… that first trip… so we sort of ended up with this low point with which to compare all future trips." Sim chuckled and nodded, muttering his thanks as he took a sip of the beer that James had brought over to hand to him. "It was a good trip, yes. But it was business, so it was a lot of sitting in a car with nothing but my camera to talk to. Annoying each other on the radio gets old after a while, though I admit it's something I enjoy greatly. And it was the desert southwest, so the scenery was… beautiful, but bleak, in its own way. Miles upon miles of the same terrain, barbed wire that seemed to have neither beginning nor end. I've never seen so much of nothing, so well fenced, Sim. It looked like the kind of fence that ranchers use, but I don't know. Spectacular sunsets, though. Vivid and bright, like they've been coloured by a child who's yet to develop any sense of subtlety."

Sim smiled at James' description of a desert sunset, then turned to use his infrared thermometer to check the oven temperature before shuffling the pizza into it. He set the timer on his watch before turning towards James who was still standing in the middle of the kitchen, mesmerised by the flames in the oven. How to broach the topic of their purpose for being here today… Sim took in the way his colleague was standing, toes pointed slightly together, a slight frown across his features. He seemed to be thinking remarkably hard, even for James. Especially for James, for whom complex thoughts often come easy, Sim reminded himself as he decided to take matters into his own hands. He stepped behind James and wrapped both arms around his chest. The slightly shorter man was just tall enough to perch his chin on James' shoulder in this configuration.

"Sounds like you got your fill of introspection and thinking," Sim commented, working to steer their interaction around to the intended purpose of their visit. James rested one hand over Sim's forearms and nodded.

"More than my fill," he answered softly. "Alone in the car, alone in the hotel rooms… even the plane, it wasn't a full flight and I ended up with a row to myself. Nicer than getting stuck next to one of those people who thinks they can convert you to their anti-drinking religion and sell you their multi-level marketing vitamins while you're trying to enjoy your beer, but still." Sim chuckled gently.

"So, what I'm thinking --" Sim paused to shut off his watch's alarm, fish the pizza out of the oven, and fling it onto the wooden cutting board by the sink.

"What are you thinking?" James asked, watching as nimble fingers grabbed the pizza cutter from its place and made short work of slicing the slightly singed treat.

"No," Sim said, glancing up at him briefly before finishing the final cut and setting the slicer in the sink. He looked up at James with a friendly, yet neutral expression. "I want to hear your thoughts. I've got about four hours before I need to get on to some work. How would you like to fill the time?"

"There's always the pool table," James commented.

"Ahh, James, you've already won so many IOU's, you'll never have to hire a handyman as long as you live!" Both of them chuckled at Sim's apparent inability to win at their occasional games of pool.

"I have an idea for a Toy Stories special that I think they're going to approve," James said. Sim's eyebrows popped up at that, although his bite of pizza kept him quiet. He'd thoroughly enjoyed working on that project with James in the past. "What about you?" James asked, then started in on his own pizza slice. "This is good, by the way."

"I actually was thinking of a game of pool, as well," Sim confessed as he grabbed a rag from his toolbox with which to wipe his mouth. James frowned slightly at the inappropriate repurposing of a rag that was probably saturated with machine oils and heaven only knew what else, but he said nothing. "I wondered if you'd like to go upstairs for a bit after the oven cools; your sofa is more comfortable than the one down here." James nodded at that, prompting Sim to lean over and give him a sideways hug, although James wasn't sure what he'd done to provoke that. He wasn't entirely certain what he'd done to earn Sim's willingness to touch him in the first place, really. They weren't dating. Neither of them was under age five. Neither had suffered a recent tragedy. Of course, James remembered the way Sim had talked about a mutual need, a few weeks before, but that couldn't be reason enough. Could it? James pondered it briefly as he wiped down the counter, then filed the disconcerting thoughts away as they migrated to the pool table.

Using the game as a transition between eating and going upstairs was a good choice, James decided, as his thoughts began to unwind from a knotted-up mess into something that might someday become logical enough to express verbally. And, of course, they had several great laughs at each other's expense as neither tended to play the game terribly well. That track record only worsened as they continued helping themselves to the contents of their personal pub.

"So what's the toy idea you mentioned earlier?" Sim asked as they played.

"There's a non-disclosure agreement involved in that," James replied.

"Oh, you know I'll sign anything to work on Toy Stories," Sim chided, provoking a laugh from his friend.

"I've always wanted to add an odd statement to those, maybe a promise to learn to make tea to my specifications, just to see if people read them, but the lawyers always say no," James said, his expression gradually shifting from joking to thoughtful. "Is it possible to build a full-size working vehicle out of Meccano? We'd have to get an engine of some sort, of course." James looked up at Sim, who simply froze midway through lining up what was probably going to be an abominable shot, anyhow. The older man could tell by the way his eyes glazed over that he was considering structural limitations, the scale of the project, and… engineer-y stuff.

"How much does an engine weigh?" Sim asked. "What about the gearbox and… and all the other stuff? Muffler, anti-smog equipment… turn indicators? Accelerator, for that matter…"

"I don't know," James answered honestly. "Motorbike components are not that heavy. We could create the vehicle and then choose the lightest engine that provides sufficient power."

"A motorbike. I bet we could build that." Sim took his shot, and promptly walked around the table to fish the cue ball out of the pocket. Again. "Not too sure how we'd get wheels of an appropriate size, or… road-legal would be an issue if that's what you've got in mind, but that bridge had to be capable of supporting a tremendous amount of weight, to get health and safety to sign off on it, so we know Meccano can take quite a bit. We could probably use the building strategies we developed for that project." At this point, he'd devolved into muttering to himself while James watched, awed by his problem-solving prowess. "Yes," Sim said, looking up to address his companion. "I think it can be done."

A few moments later, Sim lost yet another game, adding another IOU to his pool-related stack of gambling losses. As James added another tick mark to the record, Sim felt incredibly pleased with himself for thinking of wagering their time and expertise, rather than money, on these games. For one thing, it kept costs down, and for another, James always had the most interesting tasks in mind when he called. One day, they'd stripped down a motorbike engine and restored it. Sim had learned many new things about combustion engines, and taught James some new tricks about dealing with the small fiddly bits. Another time, it was a redesign of his bathroom plumbing to support a luxurious shower head for the companion James affectionately called Woman. He'd made James return the favour in his own bathroom the following weekend, to his wife's great delight. Sim wondered idly what it was about genetics that made women seem to have such a great fondness for really expensive shower heads. "The fire's gone out," James observed aloud. Sim glanced over to verify, then walked to the oven and poked around with the pizza paddle, just in case.

"Just some warm spots left," he agreed before wordlessly making his way upstairs, listening to the footsteps behind him that confirmed that James was following. Sim sat on the sofa and spread his arms in a welcoming gesture, watching with open curiosity as James came to a sudden halt in the middle of the room, eyeing his arms warily. Sim had expected this, to some degree, though he'd expected more of a momentary hitch in the flow than a complete standstill.

"Sit, James," the younger man said in a firm voice. He chuckled when James did indeed sit as commanded, but slightly away from Sim, with a stiffness that spoke of significant emotional discomfort. "Tell me why this is hard," he said as he slid himself the last couple inches and stretched one arm along the back of the sofa, around James. The lack of response annoyed him, but when he glanced over at his companion, he saw a brow furrowed in thought.

"A bit of me is still not sure you meant for this to happen," James said after a minute or two of silence. Sim breathed out a relieved sigh at that response, his hand gently rubbing James' shoulder. Being uncertain made sense, he thought. Neither of them was accustomed to it being this easy to have their needs met. "I don't understand what I've done, what entitles me to this," James added quietly. Sim's hand froze, along with his stomach. The first of James' sentiments was reasonable; he understood the experience of getting something so completely good that you had trouble believing it could be real. Being asked to apply for the project manager job on Toy Stories, for example, was one of those moments. But that second sentiment…

"James," Sim said, his tone one of surprise, and not in a good way. It reminded James of the way Sim would say his name when he'd dropped something delicate in the lab, or the way Jeremy Clarkson tended to whine when he wanted something. "I--" he started, then stopped. At first, he'd thought James was expressing doubt in Sim's offer of deep, close friendship. But James' tone had been almost too quiet for vocal inflexion at all, but there had been a pleading, almost wistful undertone just the same. This might not be what it seemed on the surface, Sim realised, and this was… he wasn't sure, but something very important was trying to emerge. "What do you mean?" Sim asked, not entirely sure if he was seeking clarification or just plain stalling. "Can you rephrase that, so I'm sure I understand?"

James blew out a frustrated puff of air. "What have I done to deserve… this? Or to deserve your attention in the first place?" he asked.

For just a moment, Sim's world felt like it had tilted to one side. The very nature of the question didn't make sense to him, and in response, he could only find one answer. Sim tilted his head forward a bit, turning so he could peer into the eyes of the man sitting beside him. "Exist," he answered quietly. "You exist; thus, you deserve it." He brushed the hair away from James' face, taking in the older man's expression of wariness blended with confusion and pain. Sim's own expression shifted to one of compassion at the realisation that the only answer he had to give, wasn't enough. "Value is intrinsic; people don't earn it. Didn't anyone ever tell you that?"

Sim got the strong feeling that he was pushing James towards some sort of epiphany, the sort that required unpleasantness to arrive at… partly because James' eyes had misted over and he was now resolutely avoiding eye contact no matter how far Sim leant over. The younger man paused for a moment, regrouping the thoughts that had been so thoroughly scattered by this encounter with a completely foreign perspective. As he drew them back into logical order, he found himself more able to assume James' perspective, rather than trying to forge ahead stubbornly entrenched his own. "James, what was it like in your home? How did you earn affection, growing up?"

"You didn't," James answered simply. "You could earn respect, through diligence in doing your chores, good grades, which I wasn't brilliant at because I really didn't develop the skill of applying myself until well after university… things like that. My parents weren't… affection was simply not done, not in their world. They weren't hippies. Good parents, but… they're properly English. Reserved." Both men chuckled lightly at that description.

"I don't mean any disrespect to your parents," Sim said, treading delicately on this topic. "They raised you to be a wonderful person, so I presume they're decent people with good intentions. But I was raised to believe that being cared for is a human right; it's not something you can earn, nor something to which you can become unentitled. You exist, James. It's all you ever have to do, to be valued by me." He fell silent and sat back comfortably, one arm around James' shoulders and the other hand resting on his forearm, waiting for James to process and apply this knowledge.

Sim's eyes went wide with surprise when, rather than a verbal response of acceptance, he heard a distressed intake of breath from his companion, almost like a suppressed sob. He mentally scrambled to pull a neutral expression over his surprise before he allowed himself to glance at James, just in time to see his friend swipe angrily at a rather damp-looking eye with the back of his hand. Some part of Sim's mind immediately set off alarms, started waving warning flags, completely freaking out and compelling him to run, fast and far away. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. New experiences weren't terribly unnerving to him, but this…. Tissues, Sim would want tissues in this situation, so he jumped up and grabbed the box from James' desk and tossed it into his own lap as he sat back down, putting his arm back in place around the older man's shoulders.

He wondered briefly if he should heed the ever-louder alarms in his brain, if he should excuse himself from the room. But given that James had just revealed that he felt unworthy of Sim's friendship, it seemed like a poor reaction. If asking for time and touch was a way of showing respect, then Sim had to conclude that another way of showing respect was by not making James feel obligated to conceal any portion of himself under a socially-acceptable disguise. So that was settled; he would stay even though this was deeply uncomfortable. Sim closed his eyes, working hard to ignore all social rules about men crying or showing weakness, tune out all the alarms in his head, and focus all of his energy on his decision to trust James with his own soft bits in the first place. He forced himself to think about what it would feel like when he got too far into the isolation end of his own internal balance, to call James and find solace in his arms. Too slowly for his liking, he could feel it welling up, the deep sense of trust, empathy, and friendship that had guided him thus far and, he hoped, lead him through this unfamiliar situation as well.

Evaluating the situation again from this new perspective, Sim came to the idea that in this moment, James seemed very child-like. Indeed, he was absorbing information that, in Sim's opinion, he should have sorted out before he'd even learnt to read. Pure logic dictated that a child-like response might be in order. Although he wondered if his unique brand of problem-solving creativity was steering him straight towards getting himself punched, Sim drew one leg up so he could turn sideways on the sofa, and pulled James into the most full-frontal hug he could manage. He became ever so slightly concerned when he felt his friend's back arching in an instinctive pose of discomfort. Before he could reverse course, however, James suddenly moved -- a lot.

He, too, drew one leg up onto the sofa and wedged it between Sim and the sofa back, draped over Sim's folded leg and wrapping around him as though James was trying to straddle his seated form. The elder man's other foot moved in a similar gesture, stopping just short of pulling himself into Sim's lap as his arms came stiffly around to return the embrace. Sim blinked in surprise at not just the unexpected closeness, but at the fact that this had happened in spite of it being obvious that James was in no way comfortable with all this touch. But, all right, if James was trying to follow Sim's lead, this was probably a good sign.

After a moment, James began to relax somewhat, resting his chin heavily on Sim's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone not that of a token apology for violating social norms, but more appropriate for someone harbouring a deep sense of failure. It made Sim's heart literally ache; he felt irrationally certain that if someone were to scan his chest cavity right in that moment, they would be able to see the cracks and fissures in his heart. Shoving awkwardness aside to make room for compassion and concern, Sim curled his body more fully around his friend, using his free leg to hook around James. It hadn't occurred to him that James' strength might lie entirely at the surface level, and everything beyond his protective outer walls might be delicate and insecure. Clearly, the possibility had to be considered now, though.

"Are you apologising for crying, or for being here entirely?" Sim asked, as his thoughts began to coalesce.

"Yes," came the muffled reply against his shoulder. Sim rolled his eyes at James' almost too-efficient way of indicating both options presented to him.

"Why? Do you feel as though you've messed up? Are you afraid I'm… surely you don't think I'm upset by this." Sim was sure those cracks in his heart could be heard breaking into pieces when he felt James nod against his shoulder. "Oh, James…" he muttered, his eyes involuntarily closing in response to the pain that had grown so big, he could feel it radiating from his friend. "Oh, James," he began again. "You have starved yourself for far too long. Let me help, please."

"How?" The shaky, fearful tone of that question very nearly shattered the engineer's heart all over again. How could James, confident, happy, relaxed James, be so fearful?

"How do I…" Sim fell quiet for a moment, waiting for his thoughts to finish gathering themselves. He knew what needed to be said, but for just a minute, the only response he could think of was to use one hand to rub his friend's back in long strokes that he hoped felt soothing and comforting. Judging by the way James' arms clung a little tighter to him, he assumed he was on the right track.

"Let's talk philosophy," Sim said. "I remember in school, studying a philosopher who wrote about how to interact with others in the most authentic way possible, I think was what he was getting at. We start by acknowledging that someone is completely different from us, and that makes us feel obligated to take responsibility, to reach out and connect. Like that haunting feeling you get sometimes when you see a painting of a person, and something about their eyes speaks to you, that's how my professor explained it."

Sim pulled back at that point, brushing the shaggy hair back enough to find James' reddened eyes, giving him a compassionate look that he hoped would help make his point. "When you notice that feeling, and you choose to hear the other person calling out to you, when you respond by acknowledging their request for your attention, you become special to them… no, that's the wrong word. Irreplaceable, James. You become someone who, if you leave that person's life, that space can never be filled in by anyone else." Sim paused for a moment as James pushed close again, hooking his chin over Sim's shoulder. Frustrated by the loss of eye contact, he forged ahead anyhow, knowing that he was rewriting some part of James' understanding of… himself, of Sim, the nature of friendship, maybe the nature of the universe entirely. "I heard you, James. I understood that if I answered your plea for attention, that you would respond in exactly the expected manner. I understood that I was making the forever sort of commitment. That's what took me so long to follow you up the stairs the other day. It wasn't enough to know what you were seeking; I had to choose to give it. I chose. I'm here. Don't ever conceal your needs behind a false exterior, James. Stoicism may work with your other mates, but it has no place in our friendship. We're about mutual respect for each other's presence in our lives."

"Levinas," James muttered against Sim's shoulder.

"What?" Sim asked, confused.

"The philosopher. It sounds like Levinas. He had a unique perspective, even for a philosopher. Really different way of expressing himself, compared to his contemporaries." Sim hummed in understanding. He wasn't sure if that name rang a bell or not, but it really didn't matter. He waited quietly to see what James would do next. "All right," came a muffled reply after a minute or two. "I… well, if you're sure it's all right."

"Oh, James," Sim whispered yet again. "You're practically sitting on my lap and I'm pulling you closer, not pushing you away. How is it that this doesn't tell you everything you need to know? I am so sorry that it was you who reached this point first, but believe me, I've seen the projects on my work schedule. There's one that… let's just say I have a feeling much swearing and many frustrated tears will go into it, and I expect you to be there for me."

"Really?" James asked, his tone one of wonder and thoughtfulness now, rather than misery and pain.

"Really really," Sim answered with a grin as he gave James' back a brisk rub with both hands, letting it devolve smoothly into massaging at his shoulder blades when he noticed the tension in them. "And you'll notice, I didn't consider having to earn it. You're my friend; I know you'll be there because you value me, just for existing. Yes, we get on well because we share many things in common, but that's just why it's going to be you answering the call, rather than my other mates. Intrinsic value, James. I want you to meditate on that until you believe it."

"That could take a while," James said honestly.

"That's all right," Sim replied. James only had another five or so minutes of meditating on it in this position before Sim's leg was going to reach that point of paradoxically painful numbness, but he elected not to mention that. If James hadn't gotten uncomfortable enough to move away yet, then he was almost certainly deriving substantial benefit from the closeness, and Sim wasn't about to interfere with that.

A minute or so later, James disentangled of his own volition. Upon noticing the severely awkward, embarrassed look on James' face, Sim reached one hand out to touch his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. "You're all right," he said, repeating his earlier message. "Don't go to that place, James. You've taken nothing that wasn't already yours to have."

"You couldn't have expected me to do that," James countered.

"I didn't expect you to feel like you'd failed to properly earn my friendship, either, and we're getting through that just fine," Sim pointed out with an impish grin. "I've said it before; I share your need for non-sexual affection, and I am aware that you're so accustomed to running a deficit that it will take serious effort to set you right. This is exactly what I signed up for, and I'm honoured to be granted the opportunity to find your eyes among the sea of people with whom we work, and feel them calling out for me. What do you want to do, now?"

"Oh, God, Simmy, that was awful," James said with a teasing laugh that sparked Sim's own self-deprecating chuckle. "You really enjoyed Levinas, didn't you?" James asked with a teasing grin.

Sim nodded. "I really did; philosophy was a completely unnecessary course I took on my mother's recommendation, because I was starting to struggle and she thought it might help inspire me."

"And did it?" James asked.

Sim gave him a serious look, and James expected a story about how the course had touched his life. "No," he answered, causing the both of them to dissolve into a fit of laughter. "But that chapter meant everything to me. I tore it out of the book and… I probably still have it in my box of memories. It was the second time in my life that I felt truly understood."

"What was the first?" James asked, his curiosity suddenly piqued.

"Day one, Introduction to Mechanical Engineering," Sim answered, much more predictably. "You didn't answer the question. What do you want to do with the rest of our day?" 

"Do we have time to go back downstairs?" James asked. "Could we work on some preliminary designs for the Meccano motorbike?" Sim smiled at the request.

"Sure, I've got plenty of time," he answered as he mentally pushed the afternoon's work to tomorrow. The project would require some unbillable after-hours work as a result, but that was a fair trade for the chance to permanently imprint this message on James' heart, he decided. After a beat, Sim decided to add a request of his own, just to demonstrate to James that he could. "If you don't feel too smothered by it, could we do this again before we leave?" He'd guessed that James might be rather like a starved animal, so unfamiliar with the sensation of being fed that he couldn't tell when he was full and when he'd just taken the edge off the pain. So he wanted to follow up with a second dose today, just in case.

James gave him a surprised look. "How can you still have any need at all after that," he muttered as he started towards the stairs. "Yes, of course we can, but…"

"Told you I like it," Sim answered with a shrug and one of his trademark laid-back smiles. "Now let's see what we can do about this bike plan," he added as they made their way toward their cabinet of creativity-starters, where Sim kept a shoebox of random Meccano parts to play around with.


End file.
